


Playing Pretend

by NerdyBirdy6602



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Mutual Pining, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29767098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyBirdy6602/pseuds/NerdyBirdy6602
Summary: The Witcher looked baffled and annoyed. He despised being out of the loop, and he took a moment to recollect all that had occurred in the past twenty minutes. Tentatively, he asked, “Is this about what the innkeeper wanted to know about you? She tried to ask me, but I told her to go to the source.”Jaskier groaned, his cornflower blue eyes tearing up. “Yes, in a manner of speaking. Geralt, she asked me if we were together.”Or: Rumors about the White Wolf and his barker have been spreading, and the the pair are forced to confront what is rumor and what is fact.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 192





	Playing Pretend

Geralt was already exhausted by the time he and Jaskier approached the inn. He’d just returned from taking care of a kikimora problem in a swamp close to the very village that contracted him. Thankfully, they paid in full without any complaints and seemed grateful for his work. The price was enough to compensate for the supplies he had to expend, so he couldn’t complain. Even Jaskier, who was the most critical of his pay, seemed to be pleased with the coin.

When he handed Roach over to the stableboy, he also gave him a few extra orens to ensure her getting the best care. The boy’s eyes widened, and Geralt could only guess that tips for the boy were few and far between. Once Roach was taken care of, his gaze shifted to Jaskier, who had been blessedly quiet the whole ride. Geralt’s brain felt like it was buzzing after the numerous potions he’d taken, not to mention the wounds littered across his skin that had been left untreated.

“One room or two,” Geralt prompted.

“I think just the one will suffice,” Jaskier answered quietly so as not to irritate the Witcher’s senses. “No need to spend all you’ve earned in one place, right?”

Geralt grunted in affirmation, taking his belongings and slinging them over his shoulder before walking into the inn. The din of the crowd within made him wince, but it was manageable for now. The innkeeper from across the room approached him, giving him a winning smile.

“Well, if it isn’t the White Wolf himself,” she purred, and then saw the bard behind him. “And the White Wolf’s barker! What a lucky time to have a shift. How can I help you boys?”

“A room and some dinner would be ideal, my lady,” Jaskier answered candidly, the hostess’s cheeks now rosy and flushed. “How much?”

“For you and yours? On the house,” the woman answered with a giggle.

Geralt could only roll his eyes, watching this woman throw herself at Jaskier’s feet. He experienced this more and more lately, and he was sure Jaskier would find himself busy this evening. Half of the Witcher was glad he would have some peace and quiet to clean his wounds and rest, while the other half felt exhausted at the thought of chasing off another jilted lover. He didn’t have the patience to deal with it.

Jaskier’s voice shook him from his thoughts. “Well would you look at that, Geralt! Looks like we’ve reached another part of the Continent with your daring escapades. Thank you, dear.”

Geralt grunted in answer, impatiently waiting for the key to the room they’d be staying in. Watching Jaskier flirt his way into another person’s bed was not something he looked forward to seeing. A twinge of some emotion he couldn’t place his finger on dwelled in his heart, but he ignored it. Surely, he was just tired from his battle with the kikimora mere hours ago.

Eventually, he did snag the key and went straight to the room, muffling the unpleasant buzz of conversation from downstairs. It was still present, but now he could ignore it and focus on his wounds. Jaskier remained downstairs with the woman who was relentlessly flirting with him. Geralt stepped out of his armour and pulled out his salves, tinctures, and bandages to heal himself and prepared for a night in alone. 

As he started to clean the wounds by hand, he heard a sharp knock at the door. When he opened it, he was staring face to face with the innkeeper. Quizzically, he raised a brow. She still appeared cordial, but her smile had dimmed significantly.

“Master Jaskier requested that I ask if you would like a bath drawn for you,” the innkeeper informed plainly, hands on her hips. “No extra cost to you, of course.”

“Yes,” he answered almost immediately. A soak sounded like the perfect cure to the weariness in his bones. “Thank you.”

“Coming up,” she said with a sigh, leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

Geralt didn’t have the patience or the energy to question why she suddenly seemed so annoyed with him. Humans and their emotions were something he had long tried to distance himself from. Up until Jaskier, that was the reason he avoided keeping companions for too long, lest he pissed them off. It wasn’t worth it.

He continued cleaning the worst of the wounds on his own, wincing in the privacy of the bedroom. It was hard to ignore the deep throb of the wounds, especially with his senses still recovering from the potions he’d taken earlier. When the innkeeper returned briefly thereafter with piping hot water and not so much as a knock on the door, he steeled his expression. He didn’t need a human knowing he was at a low point.

“Witcher,” she asked just as she was about to leave. “Can I ask you something about the bard?”

Geralt grunted, but realized that wasn’t the most efficient way of communicating. Jaskier was the only one, besides the other Witchers, who understood his simplistic language of minimal words. Instead, he verbally joked, “I don’t speak for the bard. He does enough talking on his own. If you ask him whatever you need to hear, I’m sure he’d tell you.”

The young woman huffed, but left him in peace after hearing that answer. Geralt smirked at that, finding it rather amusing that anyone would ask someone to speak on behalf of the bard. Anyone who knew Jaskier for even a moment knew that he could talk for hours, especially about himself and his exploits. As Geralt sank into the hot water, he hoped the poor woman wasn’t bored to death by his companion.

Speaking of the devil, Jaskier stormed into the room less than ten minutes later looking furious. The Witcher winced as the door slammed behind him and the bard flopped on the bed face-first. A muffled groan came from his lips, and he immediately heard Jaskier swear.

“Fuck,” he groaned, sitting up. “I’m sorry, dear heart. I hope I haven’t hurt your head too much.”

“It’ll pass,” the Witcher said with a grunt, gesturing for him to let it go. “Who criticized your singing this time, Jask?”

The bard rolled his eyes and carefully hopped off the bed, kneeling beside the tub. Reaching into his own pack, Jaskier found his own lavender oils and soaps. Quietly, he asked, “Can I wash your hair?”

Geralt glanced at the bard with a furrowed brow. Jaskier liked talking about himself, and particularly he liked venting. He remembered the time he asked about Valdo Marx and what the troubadour had done to infuriate him so. Merciful Melitele, was that a mistake. Jaskier didn’t stop ranting about him for literal hours. In fact, he distinctly remembered the bard’s voice becoming a hoarse rasp by the end of it. It was exhausting, sometimes, listening to him rant. Still, it was arguably more troubling when he decided to hold back.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “On the condition that you tell me what has you so pissed off.”

Jaskier shrugged, starting to massage the lavender oil into Geralt’s hair. “Meredith wasn’t as kind as I had thought she was, that’s all.”

The Witcher closed his eyes as Jaskier did his work, trying to connect in his mind who this mysterious woman was. He teased, “The innkeeper? She seemed like she was about to be another one of your conquests.”

Jaskier’s hands froze in his hair, ceasing their rhythmic massage. Geralt peered through one eye at his friend above him, who looked like he was about to be ill. Odd. Perhaps he hadn’t phrased that properly, or had been misconstrued for something else.

“Not that she was unwilling,” Geralt amended, supposing that must be the problem with his words. “She seemed… enthralled. Practically throwing herself at you, from an outsider’s perspective.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier muttered, strained. “Conquests? That’s the word we’re going with?”

He shrugged, both eyes now open and fully aware. “Unless you have a better one. You just haven’t taken a separate room in months, so I thought you were pent up.”

Jaskier remained there, his hand still in Geralt’s hair. Calmly, he answered, “Geralt, darling, my White Wolf… Gods above, why do you make this so difficult?”

“I’m sorry? Jask, what are you going on about?”

Jaskier laughed, finally removing his hands from the Witcher’s scalp and wiping them on a nearby towel. Geralt turned in the bath to see the bard walk over to sit on the bed, his head fully in his hands. Jaskier looked more distraught than he'd seen him in a long while, which was troublesome. What had he done this time to upset him?

“You’re so oblivious, Geralt,” Jaskier spat, but there was no heat behind his words. “Everyone else sees it! Hell, even Meredith saw it after talking to me for a total of thirty seconds.”

The Witcher looked baffled and annoyed. He despised being out of the loop, and he took a moment to recollect all that had occurred in the past twenty minutes. Tentatively, he asked, “Is this about what the innkeeper wanted to know about you? She tried to ask me, but I told her to go to the source.”

Jaskier groaned, his cornflower blue eyes tearing up. “Yes, in a manner of speaking. Geralt, she asked me if we were together.”

Geralt felt his brain take in the information, but not interpret it. He imagined that there would eventually be rumors surrounding the two of them, but he didn’t expect it to bother Jaskier. He thought the bard would laugh it off and tease how that could never happen between the two of them. Instead, Jaskier seemed frustrated, of all things.

“And you’re afraid this will ruin your reputation with the ladies you so often like to bed? Or something like that,” Geralt guessed, uncertain. “Jask, for fuck’s sake, just spit it out.”

“I’m tired of kissing strangers and pretending they’re you!” Jaskier exclaimed, the words ringing loud through the room. The sound probably carried to the other rooms too, but he didn’t care. “I can’t do it anymore. It’s why I haven't been with anyone else. There’s no point when I only have eyes for you, Geralt. It’s miserable, loving you in silence.”

The Witcher thought for sure that he’d hear incorrectly through the leftover haze created by the potions he’d taken. He waited a moment for his mind to catch up with the words and found that Jaskier had in fact just professed his love for him. Suspicious, he studied the man before him intently.

“I don’t appreciate being the butt of your jokes,” Geralt answered, his face reading as tired and weary. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh please, don’t start with the whole ‘I don’t deserve love, I’m a monster’ rhetoric, I beg of you,” Jaskier quipped, jumping off the bed and kneeling in front of the tub. They sat there in the silence for a long moment, noses nearly touching. Geralt felt his stomach flip. “It’s getting old, dear heart. I’ve heard every word and yet I’m still not convinced.”

And mere seconds later, the bard bridged the gap between them. Geralt found that Jaskier’s lips tasted of honey and while he usually refused to indulge in such luxuries, he didn’t have the strength to refuse this one. The heady scent of lavender wafted through the air and his Witcher senses embraced every moment. To his immense disappointment, Jaskier pulled away.

“Well,” he mumbled, his eyes searching Geralt’s desperately. “Thank you, for humoring me.”

“Jaskier…”

“I promise you I will not make such advances again, and we can pretend this never happened.”

“And if I decide I’d rather that this did happen? Jaskier,” Geralt said, as if trying to soothe the babbling bard. “You are…”

“I’m a fool,” he interjected. “Vying for your attention when your heart is clearly elsewhere is setting myself up for failure, but I can’t exactly help it!”

Geralt opened his mouth to say something, anything, to dissuade him. He wanted to admit that Yennefer was an infatuation of his, but it was almost entirely magically inclined. He wanted to profess that he’d had eyes for the bard for a long while. The words caught in his throat. He wasn’t a poet like Jaskier. Words are hardly ever needed in a profession of brute strength and dextrous swordplay. Geralt knew his heart’s feelings, but speaking them into truth? Laying bare his most intimate thoughts and thus making himself vulnerable?

The thought of that was perhaps more terrifying than any monster he’d ever faced.

“Geralt, say something please!”

The Witcher hummed softly, and decided not to speak at all. Instead, he let his actions speak for themselves as he pulled the bard by the shirt collar and placed a bruising kiss on his lips. Jaskier tried to mumble out some sort of excuse, but faltered and simply rested his hand on Geralt’s shoulder. The Witcher desperately tried to convey all the emotions he never had words for and all the longing he’d tried to ignore.

When they parted, Jaskier’s pupils were blown wide, and he simply stared in wonder as he mumbled, “ _Oh_.”

“Have I made myself clear now?”

“Crystal clear,” Jaskier admitted with a small smile. “What happens now?”

“Now? You finish what you started,” Geralt teased, turning his back to the bard tilting his half-shampooed head back. “If you would be so kind.”

The rest of the bath went on uneventfully. The Witcher sat patiently, letting Jaskier’s chatter settle in his mind as background noise. It was identical to how they’d conducted themselves in the past, as they were trying to find some semblance of normal. Geralt couldn’t sense or see the tension in the bard’s every move. It was when they sat in the dark and prepared for sleep, with Jaskier on the bed and Geralt kneeling on his bedroll, that the bard finally voiced his thoughts.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered just as he was about to slip into meditation. “Are you still awake?”

The man simply grunted, mildly disoriented from being pulled from his inner reflection. He slowly opened each eye and found that Jaskier was fidgeting nervously. Strange. Jaskier wasn’t a nervous person, unless he was face to face with something the Witcher was hunting. Sociability was Jaskier’s most iconic trait, and something he could manage even amongst strangers. Why would his travelling companion be any different?

“What are we?”

The anxiety must have been contagious, because Geralt suddenly felt his heart thrumming violently in his chest at the question. He shrugged, and then quickly realized that the bard couldn’t see in the dark. So, softly, he answered, “Travelling partners? Friends? Something without a title? Take your pick, Jask. My line of work is dangerous, and I don’t have time to ruminate on what we are and are not.”

Geralt could hear the rush of Jaskier’s sigh of relief. He watched as the bard settled into bed more soundly, finally laying on his side to face the Witcher. He heard a mumble of, “Good, good.”

The Witcher, curious, then asked, “I mean, would you like anything to change? _Should_ anything change?”

“No! No, not at all. Not yet, anyway,” Jaskier babbled more to himself than anything. “I mean, I suppose we should eventually have a more in depth conversation about boundaries and whatnot, but that’s a conversation for another time. I mean, unless you want to talk about it now. We could definitely do that if—”

“Tomorrow,” Geralt interjected, loud enough to stop the bard in his tracks, but calm enough to not sound like scolding. “A conversation for tomorrow, then.”

“Right, of course. Sorry, you must be—”

“Jask, it’s alright,” Geralt mumbled. “You’re overthinking it. Not every word must be followed by an apology. Get some sleep. It’s been a long day for the both of us.”

“Right,” he mumbled to himself. “Good night, dear heart.”

Geralt allowed himself a small smile in the dimly lit room, knowing well Jaskier wouldn’t see it, and slipped into his meditative trance.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey gang! Thanks so much for reading! My second semester has been kicking up and I've had a little extra work to do, which is why this one's a little shorter than usual. Still, I hope y'all enjoy and, as always, kudos, comments, and constructive criticism are welcome. If you want, come check me out on tumblr here!


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